Bailey, the Family Pet

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In a world where biotech has given the human race a new hormone that allows people to transitions to pets, a middle aged man walks his young female pet through the park. She is eighteen, lean and nude. She walks at the end of a short leash. She can no longer speak. The hormones have taken that power from her. Her libido is raging on high. She eats kibble from a bowl in the garage. Human pets are the new Viagra. Bailey is one such pet. She is young and beautiful and her many friends from the Brynmoore swim club adore her. Why did she do it? Bailey has a terrible secret. Becoming a human pet is her last good hope for a satisfying life. Bailey the Family Pet is the tale of one woman’s quest to discover herself in a hostile world that’s new and constantly changing.

This book is a dark and gritty, a realistic erotic fantasy romance. It’s for adult readers only.

Excerpt from Bailey, the Family Pet

Bailey woke, the scent of something in the backyard strong in her head.

Rabbit? Squirrel? Her stomach did a slow lazy roll and she fought to keep the nausea at bay. She got an unnerving image of herself using her teeth to tear into the flesh of some tiny creature. The hormone shots were working, but not as fast as she’d hoped.

Bailey rose to all fours.

The mat she slept on still held a faint odor of the last pet. A female. Fertile. Eighteen, the same age as Bailey. She straightened her arms and lowered her hips in a silent but satisfying back stretch. It was dawn, the rest of the house still asleep. Bailey laid her cheek against the soft sleep mat, its dark wispy hairs tickling her nose. She let her mind wander to the bitch that’d slept on it before. What had happened to her? Where was she now? A sinking feeling rose up in Bailey.

Scrambling to her feet, Bailey whimpered. It was a soft, insistent noise that she didn’t realize she was making. She caught a glimpse of herself in the backroom mirror and the mewling caught in her throat. She was completely nude, tall and with a swimmer’s lean body. Yesterday the groomers had given her hair a layered razor cut and color. Her long blonde tresses were gone and now she sported a pink and apricot bob. They’d also given her a deep muscle massage, as it was the surest way to quicken the effect of the hormones required to make her a human pet.

Bailey craved the attention—the adulation—she received as a pet. Here at the Williams’ house, she got that in spades. She turned to admire her backside.

The stylist had trimmed, painted and polished the nails on her hands and feet. They’d also woven colorful beads into her hair, oiled her skin, and shaved her pubic patch into the shape of a heart. When the groomer led her out to present his work, Warren made a satisfied animal noise in his throat and commented first on her mons.

“Nice touch,” he said, clipping on Bailey’s leash.

Even without her heightened sense of smell, Bailey could tell Warren was aroused. She felt it too. She wondered if it was purely the work of the hormones. After all, she’d known Warren Williams since she’d first begun swimming at Brynmoore Club as a child. He had silver hair, a square chin, and the sculpted body of a Marine. He was also one of the wealthiest parents in a club noted for its wealthy members. But he wasn’t Mr. Williams or Warren to her anymore. Now he was Master Warren. When his eyes dropped to her crotch and the corner of his mouth turned up, her response was physical and immediate. The folds in her pussy grew moist and the color rose in her face and neck. Nothing like that had ever happened in all the years she’d swum at the club. Just thinking about it now made her nipples tingle.

Bailey padded through the big house to the hall outside Warren’s bedroom. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she gazed at the door knob. It was considered bad form for a human pet to use her thumbs. If the door had been ajar, Bailey could have slipped inside and curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed. As it was, Bailey slid to the floor and stared at the ceiling with her hand between her legs.

The door on the other side of the hall opened. Bailey remained immobile, only her eyes tracking movement. It was Brian, Warren’s son.

“Bailey,” Brian whispered. “Come girl.”

Bailey raised her head.

Brian was a legend at the club. He left for a tour of duty about the same time Bailey joined the club. He came back a few years later, forever changed. Silent. Images of desert warfare tattooed on his arms and chest. He never rejoined the team, but instead swam laps endlessly.

“Come,” he whispered.

Bailey got to her feet. He had a wild, unpredictable scent that made a current of electric juice pulse through her body.

She padded to his door.

He grinned, brilliant white teeth. He wore pajama bottoms and no shirt. His muscular chest was covered with a fine mesh of curly dark hair.

“Good girl,” he whispered. Petting her head, he slipped a salty meat treat into her mouth and let his fingers linger. Bailey gobbled it up, licking the salty taste from his fingers. He gave her another and then scratched her affectionately between her breasts. His fingers passed lightly over her hard nipples. Bailey felt the air leave her lungs.

He led her into his room and softly closed the door. “Kneel, Bailey.” He whispered. “Kneel.”